


between your ribs lie acres of daylight

by EffervescentYellow



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Choose Your Own Path, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Richard is a lightweight, Romance, conversion therapy, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffervescentYellow/pseuds/EffervescentYellow
Summary: The King and Queen visit Downton in 1924, and Richard finds that things are not quite as he expected.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 24
Kudos: 69





	between your ribs lie acres of daylight

Richard hadn’t prepared to have any feelings about Downton Abbey at all; It was so like all the rest of the houses they’d seen – walls crumbling slightly at the corners and a mismatched set of staff that wouldn’t have seemed presentable just years before. He was exhausted and couldn’t give a damn about the woodwork in the library or the paintings in the hall. The first few stops he had – snuck around to peer at statues or flick dust off bookshelves to see what was about when he had a moment free, but he couldn’t be bothered now, only wanting to go _home_ and then to go home to London and gaze once more into the sludge of the River Thames. _What an odd thought._

His plans to remain disinterested were knocked off course far too soon after his arrival, however, by the sight of the underbutler, and what a sight indeed. He looked like he was on death’s door. Mr. Wilson seemed to blink twice at him before ignoring him completely, but Richard found he could barely look away. The man was so pale he looked like wax, his face shimmering with sweat and his eyes framed by hollow circles – if he’d fainted at Richard’s feet right there, he wouldn’t have even thought to be surprised.

Richard’s first thought was only that by the state of the house, _one would think the Lord Grantham could afford not to work an underbutler to death_ , but a cruel thought that was, so he gave the man a smile. When he returned it, his whole face seemed to transform, coming alive and warm and so tired but _handsome_ , and Richard’s breath skipped over itself in his throat.

Richard kept an eye on him as everyone from both households gathered around in the servant’s hall for Mr. Wilson’s dreaded speech. While the rest of the Downton staff looked at Mr. Wilson in shock, the underbutler looked like he was barely managing to keep a straight face. Richard caught his eye across the room and suddenly had a hard time suppressing a smirk of his own as Mr. Wilson dragged on.

Afterwards, when everyone else was still milling about mumbling to one another about the unfairness of it all in voices that weren’t quite as hushed as they thought, Mr. Barrow slipped up beside him, “Can I show you to your room, Mr. Ellis?” he asked politely, already motioning a footman over to take his case.

As he followed him upstairs, Mr. Barrow began asking him about his job, which usually annoyed him, but the twinge of sarcasm in the other man’s voice made him want to indulge.

“So Mr. Miller is the one who actually dresses the King,” Mr. Barrow asked, leaning causally in the doorway once they got to the room.

“Unless he’s ill, then it’s me,” Richard smiled, but his mind kept looping back around to _you’re ill._

“Is he often ill?” he asked, a smirk on his face, and Richard couldn’t help himself when he laughed.

“No.” _I like you already_ , he thought. He was confusing – refreshing.

o0o

After a few hours of work, Richard decided to give himself a rest for just a moment, and his first thought was to seek out the underbutler.

All the way down the stairs, Richard was trying to think of things to say to him, so he was caught off-guard when he happened to be just at the bottom of the stairs. Mind drawing a blank, he said the first thing he could think of to catch his attention. “Mr. Barrow, would you be able to lend me a pair of shoe spanners?”

“You didn’t bring any?” Mr. Barrow squinted at him, incredulous. It was objectively a ridiculous ask, but he was starting to think it might do the trick anyhow.

“Must’ve left a pair at the last house.”

He gave him a funny look, “Awfully forgetful for a royal valet, aren’t you, Mr. Ellis,” but Richard did his best to keep his smile casual, not backing down now.

“Believe it or not, Mr. Barrow, even the Royal Household isn’t infallible.”

He raised an eyebrow at him, but motioned for him to follow, leading them both into the boot room where, to Richard’s dismay, they weren’t alone. He made polite conversation with the other occupants while Mr. Barrow retrieved the spanners, coming back to stand next to him. Without waiting for him to offer them up, Richard leaned over and slipped them out of his hands, letting his fingers graze across the other man’s hand just a fraction more than was necessary, trying to gauge his reaction, before giving a quick thanks and backing into the hallway. To his delight, a slight rouge blossomed high on his pallid cheeks, but Richard barely had time to process it before he was suddenly face to face with Mr. Carson.

“I hope Mr. Barrow found everything you needed, Mr. Ellis.”

“He did, yes,” Richard replied, holding up the pair of spanners as evidence, “He’s been very helpful.”

Mr. Carson nodded but frowned, “I’m glad to hear of it, though might I suggest, Mr. Ellis, that if you need anything in the future, you can come ask me.”

“As I said, he’s been very helpful.”

“Still…” the butler coughed awkwardly, “I think it would be for the best.”

Richard scanned his face for a moment, trying to decipher whether he was simply dealing with the ego of an old butler or something more. Was it something about Mr. Barrow specifically? _Because he’s ill? Contagious perhaps?_ Richard glanced back and saw the man still standing in the boot room, unmoving; his eyes were shooting daggers in their direction. _Perhaps something else then?_ Richard could imagine a handful of things in that case – one in particular he was beginning to think and hope might be true.

He gave Mr. Carson the most false, buttery smile he could manage, “If you insist.”

The butler gave a curt nod and continued down the hallway. As Richard stood for a moment, twirling the spanners between his hands and thinking, Mr. Barrow swept out of the boot room and out the opposite way without pausing to look at him.

Richard let him go and went to put the tools away before going back to look for him, giving him a moment. He didn’t see him anywhere downstairs when he returned, however, so he poked his head in the kitchen and asked the first person he saw.

“Pardon me, do you happen to know where Mr. Barrow might be?”

The girl looked up with a sour expression on her face, “How should I know?”

“Sorry. I’m sure I’ll find him.”

But she seemed to relent then, sighing and rolling her eyes, “If he’s not anywhere else, he’s probably out having a smoke.”

Richard smiled his thanks and then made his way out the back door to find that she had been right.

The underbutler was leaned up against the brick wall, cigarette dangling easily from his lips. His eyes were closed and his head was bare – black hair shining even under a cloudy sky.

Richard’s breath caught.

He looked up, eyeing him, “Thought Mr. Carson told you to keep away from me,” he scowled, smoke curling out between his mouth.

Richard smiled coyly, “I don’t make a habit of obeying country butlers.”

Mr. Barrow took another drag, watching him, assessing. Richard didn’t look away. He didn’t think he could look away – not while his lips were curled around the end of the cigarette. _Sinful._

He seemed to decide something then, reaching out to offer him a cigarette from his pack. Richard had to shake his head, embarrassed, “Just stepped out for a breath of fresh air.”

Mr. Barrow replaced the box back into his coat pocket, but the corner of his mouth curled just slightly into a smile. He continued to smoke in silence until he finished the cigarette, grinding it out and heading back inside with just a nod to Richard, who was then left out under the dreary sky wondering if he was playing his cards right.

o0o

The next morning, just after breakfast, Richard was headed upstairs when he heard a strangled sob come from the washroom in the hall. His first instinct was to leave whoever it was be, except that It didn’t sound like someone caught in a down moment, it sounded like someone in _pain_. He looked around quickly to see if anyone better suited than him for the task was around, but he was alone. Biting his lip, he knocked on the door.

“Hello? Who’s in there?”

When no one answered, he reached down to try the doorknob, but it didn’t give. He tried knocking again but was only met by another chocked-off sound.

As he stood near the door, hand still hovering over the wood, Richard tried to retrace his steps in his head. Who had he just seen leave breakfast? Who had he passed in the corridor? He knew the voices of his fellow staff and he could have sworn he’d just seen the Downton footmen in the servant’s hall. _And you know Mr. Barrow’s ill_ , a voice in his head reminded him. He could be wrong, but the facts led him to believe that he wasn’t.

He placed his hand back on the door and tried to keep his voice as level as possible, “Mr. Barrow?”

“Go away,” came a tight voice from the other side of the door. It was him.

“Would you like me to fetch someone to help you?”

“Who? There isn’t a person in this house who’d help me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, his mouth caught open for a moment before he placed his hand flat against the doorway and said in a voice that he hoped came off as sincere as he meant it, “I would – I will, if you let me know what’s the matter.”

“Just mind your own business,” Mr. Barrow called out, his voice still deeply pained, and Richard’s hand curled into a fist in frustration and he rested his forehead against it because _he wasn’t good at this._ He might know how to charm but he’d never caught on how to comfort. _Some people did it so easily_.

Mr. Barrow must have heard Richard still standing there, because after a moment he pressed again, “Please, just leave me be.” He sounded so defeated this time that Richard almost pushed back, but just as he’d made up his mind to, he heard footsteps on the stairs and stepped away from the door.

o0o

Mr. Barrow didn’t catch his eye over lunch nor tea nor dinner as he had the day before; in fact, he seemed quite purposely to be avoiding him. Each time he entered the servant’s hall to find him there, he would determinately raise his newspaper higher, shielding his face from view. Richard felt a flash of guilt and concern each time he did so.

He did look noticeably worse than he had the day before, however, and it was shocking to see a change so quickly, and it made his stomach turn to think that no one else seemed to have cared or even noticed. _And I’ve only been here a day_ , he thought.

It wasn’t until late in the evening that he finally caught him outside, though as soon as Richard stepped out into the night air, Mr. Barrow dropped his cigarette to the ground and made to brush past him back to inside. Without thinking, stopped him with a hand to his shoulder, and the man stilled immediately, jerking his head up to meet his eyes.

“I hope you’re not embarrassed about earlier,” which is not quite what he’d meant to say: _I hope I didn’t embarrass you. I didn’t mean to_ , “You’ve no need to be.”

“I think it’s better for both of us, Mr. Ellis, if you just forget all about it,” but he sounded so tired.

Richard let his hand drop. He realized it had been sitting at his shoulder for far too long than was appropriate. “You’re ill,” was all he could think to say. It wasn’t a polite thing to say.

Mr. Barrow turned away and answered airily as he stepped through the door, but his voice was hollow and haunting, “I don’t see why that should worry you at all, Mr. Ellis.”

o0o

On the final afternoon of Richard’s stretch of the visit, he had just finished all of his duties for the day and was going to get ready to head to York when he happened to pass by the washroom just as Mr. Barrow was leaving. As he exited the room, pallid and shimmering with sweat, the man quite literally swayed on his feet in the doorway, and Richard, out of the same instinct he’d gained through years of catching falling china and silverware, ran a few steps to catch him by the arm.

“Mr. Barrow, you need to sit down,” he said firmly as he pushed him back into the washroom and onto the edge of the bathtub. Noticing that he was carrying a small box and fearful that he’d drop whatever was inside, Richard took that from under his arm and set it on the side table beside him. Now that Mr. Barrow didn’t seem in immediate danger of fainting, however, Richard was at a loss of what to do.

He closed the door behind him, and following Mr. Barrow’s eyes, locked it as well, hoping he was doing the right thing. “Please tell me how to help you,” he pleaded.

Mr. Barrow didn’t respond; Richard couldn’t tell if he was listening or not. Making sure Mr. Barrow wasn’t going to stop him, he turned and slowly opened the box. As he lifted the lid, however, a small piece of paper fluttered out and started to drift down towards the floor. Mr. Barrow jerked forward as if to snatch it out of the air, but Richard moved faster and grabbed it before he could. At first, Richard just saw part of a cut-out magazine article, but when he flipped it over, he felt a hot spike of horror flash down his whole body from the crown of his head to his toes.

He jerked his head up in shock and his horror must have been plastered all across his face because Mr. Barrow reached forward again and this time succeeded in ripping the paper out of his hands, his eyes suddenly ablaze with what appeared to be both terror and anger.

“I’m not going to- You wouldn’t- ,” Mr. Barrow was stammering as he tried to get up, his skin seeming to have turned an even more deathly shade of pale than it already had been, if that were possible.

Richard couldn’t get words out. He’d spent his whole life with people telling him to _please, shut up_ , and he’d finally gone picked the exact wrong moment to do so, but he couldn’t stop staring at the “Choose Your Own Path” advertisement gripped tightly in the other man’s hand. He’d seen it in a magazine before and he knew exactly what it was for.

Mr. Barrow had taken his silence to mean something else though and had already stood up off the rim of the bathtub and was trying to brush past Richard to the door, “I’m sorry. Please just forget about all this,” Mr. Barrow said quietly, but his voice was shaking, “You wouldn’t understand.”

Just as Mr. Barrow got a hand on the doorknob, Richard reached out and grabbed his forearm, stopping him, “I understand perfectly.”

But that wasn’t the right thing to say. It didn’t come out like he’d meant it to, and Mr. Barrow still looked like a man headed for the gallows. _He probably thought he was, God help them both._

Richard tightened his grip and moved so that he was fully between Mr. Barrow and the door, “I’m the same as you.”

It took him a few seconds to understand, his eyes wide in shock, but Richard just repeated himself, and then he practically collapsed back against the edge of the tub, pulling his arm from Richard’s grasp and putting his face in his hand.

“Please tell me you’re telling the truth…” Mr. Barrow whispered.

“What would I have to gain in lying?”

Mr. Barrow shook his head against his hand. He still wouldn’t look at him. Richard turned away to take a glance inside the box and shuddered at the sight of the syringe. He felt suddenly quite ill as he looked at the needle, but even more so at the fact that Mr. Barrow had been injecting himself with _God-knows-what_ (and even more ill at the recognition that there had been a time in his life where he might have done the same). “What have you done to yourself?” he breathed out. If he’d been in a proper state of mind, he might have felt bad at the unintentional condescension that seeped through, but he wasn’t in a proper state of mind.

“You must think me stupid,” Mr. Barrow mumbled, “It didn’t work.”

“I don’t. I couldn’t,” Richard replied, gently as he could, looking back at him where he sat slumped over and face full of despair, “And no… I wouldn’t think that it would.”

Mr. Barrow finally looked back at him, his eyes shining, “I don’t know what to do.”

 _Neither did he._ Richard’s heart was beating much too fast in his chest, but he tried to steady himself, sucking in a deep breath, “What have you-?” he gestured vaguely to where the other man sat, not even knowing what questions he ought to ask and feeling all the more useless for it.

But Mr. Barrow seemed to understand, and he stood up slowly, his hands hovering at the waist of his trousers, “I’m sorry about this,” he said, looking him in the eye in what seemed like one last chance ( _or challenge_ ) for Richard to take his leave.

Richard shook his head, “I can take it,” but that was honestly quite likely a lie.

Mr. Barrow pulled the band of his trousers down past his hip, exposing a deeply inflamed spot on the side of his hip, and Richard immediately had to look away. He thought he might be sick. ”God in heaven…”

“I thought it would pass, but it just keeps getting worse… Can’t sleep…” he trailed off miserably.

“I’m not surprised,” Richard replied, continuing to look at a patch of the wall tiles to the left of Mr. Barrow, giving him space to put his clothes back in order. But when he turned around, Mr. Barrow was rubbing a hand under his eyes where a few stray tears had left trails down his cheeks.

“Please help me,” he begged.

And _God_ , if Richard hadn’t known what to do before, he surely didn’t know it now.

Mr. Barrow made a valiant job of trying to compose himself as Richard considered his options. There really was only one option when he thought about it, though, and he hoped Mr. Barrow wouldn’t object. “We’re going to the doctor.”

“We?” Mr. Barrow countered.

He opened and closed his mouth, not sure whether he ought to argue or not, but decided to ignore the comment, “You’ll show him the syringe and the liquid you injected and the pills you’ve been taking – all of it.” Richard turned back to the open box on the table and felt slightly faint himself as he looked at the syringe. He closed the lid hastily and gave it back, “Bring everything, you understand?” Mr. Barrow nodded, and Richard continued, “Follow me down in five minutes and we’ll meet by the back door. You can show me the way from there.”

When Mr. Barrow didn’t say anything more, Richard reached across and placed a hand atop the other man’s, squeezing it briefly before leaving the room and heading out to grab his coat and umbrella and slip out through the back door.

Once outside, he leaned up against the bricks on the side of the building, feeling adrenaline already beginning to give way to a deep sense of tiredness and _sadness_. Still, he rubbed a hand across his eyes and set his hat on his head, wanting to be a stalwart supporter of Mr. Barrow in his moment of crisis, not a man who might himself faint before either of them could walk two steps further towards the hospital. He opened the umbrella and waited.

Mr. Barrow came out soon enough and already looked significantly more composed than he had just moments before, which Richard selfishly found comforting and then immediately felt shameful for.

“You’ll be alright walking there?”

“I walk a longer distance up and down the stairs daily than it will take to get there,” he replied, a twinge of bite already back in his voice.

“Right, then lead the way.”

o0o

Once they reached the hospital, Mr. Barrow stopped at the front entrance, seeming uncertain of whether Richard was going to follow him inside or not. Richard wasn’t sure what he was meant to do either, so he just waved the man inside before awkwardly offering, “Unless you want…?”

Mr. Barrow cut him off with a shake of his head, “No, I’m – I’ll be fine,” and closed the door behind him, leaving Richard outside.

Richard stood around the entrance for a moment before noticing a tree across the lane that seemed as if it might offer decent shelter from the drizzle and made his way to stand underneath it. The silence didn’t do him any favors, though – his mind kept going back to the wound on Mr. Barrow’s side and how that was only the start of it all, only the physical part. It frightened him to think that a few more bad turns himself and he might be in the same place, and it frightened him that he might have wanted to be, and then it frightened him more to think of what might have happened had he not chanced to be in the hallway at the exact moment Mr. Barrow exited the washroom this afternoon. It seemed clear enough that the rest of the Downton staff were all enough content to watch the man waste away right under their noses.

It wasn’t going to help him to think of those things now, however, so he focused in on a low-handing leaf near his left shoulder and started counting the raindrops that dribbled off of it and fiddled with his gloves until Mr. Barrow was finished inside.

As soon as he spotted Mr. Barrow exiting the front of the hospital, Richard caught his eye across the lane and tipped his hat to him. Mr. Barrow met him in the road but other than a cursory glance, he kept his eyes trained on the tree behind Richard’s back. He looked ashamed, which made Richard’s stomach curl. “You’re to be alright then?”

“Still don’t see why it should matter to you,” Mr. Barrow snapped, already starting to walk down the path.

Richard had to jog a few steps to catch up with him, opening up his umbrella as he reached his side to cover both of them. “We have to stick together – men like us.”

Thomas seemed to stumble in surprise, his foot catching on the gravel before he was able to recover and reply, “I’ll be fine. I’ve just been an idiot,” but this time his voice had lost all of its vitriol. The man just sounded exhausted.

“I disagree.” Richard said carefully, and Mr. Barrow glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, “I don’t think it’s wrong to try and make your life the way you want.”  
  
Mr. Barrow looked steadfastly in front of him along the road, but his eyes looked glassy, “Thing is, I don’t even know think that’s what I want – not really. I just…” He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly, and gestured vaguely in front of him.

“Want everything that comes with it?” Richard ventured, trying and failing to catch his eye.

“I’m tired of my current lot.”

“I couldn’t blame you for that, Mr. Barrow.”

“Thomas,” after a beat. He finally looked at him directly. Richard kept his gaze steady.

“Thomas,” he smiled tenderly. He wasn’t going to tell him that he already knew – that he’d heard enough of the staff call him so already. Richard wanted him to be the one to share such a gift, one which others seemed to toss around so carelessly, and what a wonder it was to feel his name on his tongue “Richard to you then.”

o0o

By the time they returned, Thomas was limping slightly, and Richard wished he’d had the will and foresight to have taken a car.

Thomas didn’t make to go inside, even though they had been gone plenty long enough to be plenty missed, but Richard wasn’t going to remind him of that; with the chaos of the royal visit, he hoped the underbutler might be allowed to get lost for an hour.

Thomas sat down on a crate and pulled out a cigarette. Richard sat on the crate beside, watching him take a few drags, his shoulders relaxing as he did so, light eyes locked with Richard’s own.

“Do you do this at every house, then? Find an ill man to charm when he’s at his weakest?”

 _I’ve charmed you_ , thought Richard. _I’ve charmed you_. But he answered, “No,” simply, because he understood the underlying question: _Am I just a one of many?_

But Richard could be coy if he liked, “Do you charm every visitor?”

He barely hesitated, “Charmed a Duke once… though I wouldn’t even be surprised if you had me beat,” _and wasn’t this conversation spinning around quickly._ Thomas glanced at him out the side of his eye as he took a drag on his cigarette – the hollows in his cheeks so pronounced, Richard started fiddling with his coat buttons for fear he might reach out and touch them.

“I haven’t,” _not that it was completely out of the realm of possibility_ , he thought. “Highest a Marquess,” he admitted after a moment once he determined the other man wasn’t going to say anything until he answered the thinly veiled question.

“Which one?” _funny that he’d almost asked him the same thing._

“Hexham.”

Thomas shrugged and looked away, “Haven’t actually met him.”

“He wasn’t unkind,” _and frankly that was an understatement._

“Lucky in love you are, Mr. Ellis,” Thomas gibed, grinding the butt of his cigarette into the stone.

“Was always unequal though. Was always going to be.” _They shouldn’t be having this conversation outside._

“Yeah…” Thomas conceded after a moment of looking up into the clouds. He’d begun turning his lighter over in his hands as if he might pull out another cigarette but hadn’t yet.

“Have you ever- ? Have you ever been with someone on equal terms?”

The other man didn’t answer for more than a moment before finally answering, “No,” and the one word was so bitter, Richard’s chest ached.

“I’d like to be.”

“I would’ve thought you a man to run around,” he challenged, shooting him a look that wasn’t unkind but was piercing, “Perks of a royal position and all.”

“I’m not.”

“Only with a Marquess?”

“I wouldn’t have called it ‘running around’.” _I thought I was in love_ , he thought. _Maybe I was._ But he didn’t say that out loud – worried suddenly that the other man might laugh at his folly.

“I used to,” Thomas tapped the lighter against his knee, “Run around that is.” And that didn’t surprise Richard – not with him looking half like William Haines even with a fever.

“Not anymore?”

A dark look passed over his face, “Made a mistake.”

Richard felt his stomach drop.

“With the Duke?”

“No- well yes… but no,” he shook his head, “Might’ve made me feel less shameful in some respects if it’d just been that.”

The conversation was taking so many turns, Richard found himself scrambling slightly to keep up, “Less shameful if it’d been a duke?”

“Was a footman,” Thomas said lowly, “And I was wrong.”

 _Oh._ He thought he might understand then.

“I’m only still here because I saved Lord Grantham’s daughter from a fire when I was acting as a lookout for him while he was in another room fucking a dowager baroness.”

Richard didn’t know what to say to that, but Thomas was smiling at him finally – the corners of his mouth turned up smugly as though he was glad to be a bit shocking. Richard recovered quickly, but that only made the other man’s smile grow more – he looked more than pleased than to have made him stumble, “There’s plenty about this house you don’t know yet, Mr. Ellis.”

“I wouldn’t mind learning more.”

“Feels good to talk about it with someone,” he offered suddenly. He was still smirking, but gone from his eyes was the teasing, almost chafing, look, and it was replaced by a sincere openness that made Richard’s heart swim. _How miserable must you have been. How glad am I to be here._

Richard gave him a genuine smile, and the man blushed.

“You ought to be off to York then, if you’re to go.” Thomas said, standing and putting his lighter back inside his coat, “I’ve surely taken up enough of your time.”

Before Richard could even give due thought to the option, he found himself offering, “You could join me, if you like.”

“Would your family like?” and Richard once again found himself fumbling for an answer, because he wasn’t sure himself whether they would or not or whether he even wanted that to happen, but his pause was answer enough because Thomas raised an eyebrow at him and answered for him, “Didn’t think so.”

Richard felt stung but he didn’t plan on showing it ( _and didn’t think he had a right to feel that way either_ ). He considered at least inviting him out for a drink, but it seemed inconsiderate to make an ill man wait around in a pub while he gallivanted off with his family for a few hours. Instead, he asked, “Will you be around this evening?”

That seemed to catch the other man off guard, but he quickly made his face unreadable, “If I’ve a mind to be.”

o0o

Richard felt dizzy with too many thoughts coming back from York. He’d enjoyed himself, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate, so he was relieved and delighted to see light still creeping out from under the crack of Thomas’ door when he returned. He knocked lightly and after a quiet answer pushed open the door to find Thomas in his shirtsleeves looking no less exhausted than he had earlier but significantly less feverish. He gave Richard a soft smile, and Richard felt certain that neither of them was planning to sleep soon regardless of the circumstances.

Richard leaned himself up along the doorway, trying to look casual, “Thought we might have some wine.”

Thomas smile fell open slightly, and he looked at him like he was daft. “I presume you’ve brought some then.”

“No,” he answered, willing to place money on a bet that Thomas wouldn’t disapprove of his plan, “But surely you know how to get some.”

“And I’m to tell Mr. Carson what, exactly?” but he didn’t look at all concerned.

“Oh I don’t know, blame it on our footmen. Blame it on me for all I care. What’s he to do, call up Buckingham Palace?”

His voice thrummed with laughter in his chest, “Oh, you are something else, Mr. Ellis.”

“On second thought… you are ill.” He was only half teasing, suddenly unsure – feeling silly.

“No, I quite think we’re going to get wine now that you’ve gone to all the trouble of bringing it up,” Thomas was already standing up, grinning at him in a way he hadn’t yet seen.

“Will you actually be fine? We don’t need to,” Richard prodded carefully.

“A glass won’t hurt me.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes,” and he said it with finality, so Richard was keen to believe him though evidence pointed so far that he might should not.

o0o

Thomas opened the lock so easily Richard had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from laughing aloud. He waved him in with a smug look on his face, “Whatever you fancy, I suppose,” but Richard just picked a bottle close to the floor in the corner hoping it would be a while before it was missed.

Back upstairs, Richard debated for a moment on where to sit. Thomas had left plenty of space beside him on the bed, but he somehow couldn’t make himself take the invitation. Instead, he pulled up the single chair close enough that, had they wanted to, they could have crossed ankles. Thomas opened it and offered it to him first and bit his lip when Richard made a face, “Christ, that’s sweet.”

“You didn’t bother to read the label,” he said, as if explaining to a child.

They traded the bottle back and forth for a while before Thomas asked, “How was your family.”

He was already starting to feel a bit hazy, “Fine. No- I mean, it was nice. I was glad to go.”

Thomas had the bottle just resting between his knees, but Richard hadn’t seen him take a sip in a moment. It was probably for the best, all in all, but he seemed perfectly fine and Richard was already not quite so.

“You’re close with them then?”

“One might say.”

“Would you say?”

“Yeah.”

Thomas just tapped a finger against the glass of the bottle, and Richard felt guilty. “I imagine that’s nice.”

“Do you have anyone?” _What a terrible thing to ask when it seems clear that he doesn’t._

Thomas shrugged and handed him back the bottle. After a moment he said quietly, “I thought I might have had here for a while.” He was looking at him like he was willing him to understand, “Is that ridiculous?”

“No.” He understood.

Thomas just shook his head and placed it in his hands, dark hair freeing itself and brushing against his fingers. “I’ve made myself so miserable,” he breathed out harshly, his shoulders high and stiff.

“You’ve been made miserable,” Richard corrected, but It took him a moment to realize that Thomas’ breathing hadn’t evened out and he was crying.

He set the wine bottle down by the leg of his chair, but he didn’t know what to do. _What a wonderful job you’ve done, Richard._ He sat awkwardly in the chair, fixating on a point in the ceiling hoping Thomas might recover himself so he didn’t have to figure out how to do so on his own, but after a few moments, that was seeming less and less likely. Richard stood slowly and moved across the small space to sit down gingerly next to him on the bed and after a moment more placed a hand between his shoulder blades.

Thomas’ sobs morphed into laughter, but nothing was funny. He sounded hysterical.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and Richard pressed against his spine and finally Thomas chocked out, “What on Earth have you done to deserve meeting me,” and Richard let out a breath.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing, but I suspect for different reasons.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Was thinking it even before the wine.”

Thomas sat up then, wiped at his eyes, and took in a few shuddering breaths. Richard let him collect himself for a moment, the pair of them breathing together, before asking tenderly as he could manage ( _he was becoming less and less sure about what he could manage_ ), “Why don’t you leave?”

“It’s not so easy as all that.”

“Well, it’s not so hard either. Might be a good time anyhow with the industry dying out and all.”

“I’m not so certain I want to leave service – dying industry or not. I imagine you don’t.”

“But you don’t have to be in service _here_ is all I’m saying. Could try out London if you fancied,” Richard suggested, nudging against his shoulder slightly, “Plenty of blokes like us there.”

Thomas mumbled something under his breath that Richard didn’t catch.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t need plenty of blokes.”

Richard’s head was spinning. “Still, it’s nice to have a friend or two who understands.”

“I’m not good at _making friends_ , ‘s the problem,” Thomas scoffed.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Are we?” he asked pointedly, but his eyes didn’t match his tone. They looked hopeful, Richard thought.

“I’d like to be. I’d like to be more than that, if I’m honest, but friends if nothing else.”

Thomas just stared at him, mouth open.

And Richard was surely drunk now, spinning his heart out for all to see, but the edges of his mind were hazy, and Thomas was looking at him, and he couldn’t tell whether the shock written on his face was good or not, so he hurried on, “You will think on it, won’t you? London? I could put in a good word somewhere.”

Thomas looked away sharply, “Don’t trust me to find a job on my own?”

“That’s not what I meant. I want to be helpful,” Richard replied, frustrating himself at his increasing inability to gauge the situation.

“Christ, what on Earth would you say anyhow? _Known him three days – he was nasty to everyone and tried to poison himself, cried like a child when he succeeded_.”

Richard felt it best not to respond to that, “We don’t have to figure it all out now.”

“So something like that then.”

“Don’t be daft. I’d say you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, good moral standing-“

“As if either of us have that-“

“-hardworking, trustworthy-“

Thomas was finally looking at him again. He was trying to look serious, goading, but there was a spark of something in his eyes – wonder, perhaps. “You don’t know me at all.”

“Don’t I?” Richard challenged. He was grinning now, and he didn’t think he could stop, “Intelligent, handsome-“

Thomas kissed him.

And it was over in a second.

He jerked back away, leaving Richard hung in midair with his mouth open. His eyes were huge and he looked like he was going to apologize and Richard didn’t want to hear it, so he leaned forward and caught Thomas lips with his own. He jolted slightly in surprise but then relaxed almost immediately, bringing a hand up to caress the side of his face, and all Richard could think was _how could anyone have left you when you kiss so sweetly._

Richard dragged his fingers through the hair at the back of Thomas’ neck, tilting his head back, and Thomas opened up his mouth to him – giving control to Richard without any pretense while gripping his arm like he was terrified to let go. He shifted even closer and, without thinking, dragged his free hand along Thomas’ spine and down across his hip when he pulled back sharply with a stifled yelp of pain.

Richard let go of him and moved back, hands hovering in midair and heart beating far too quickly against his ribs, but the shock of it made him suddenly feel sober, “Christ- Thomas, I’m sorry. How could I have forgotten,” guilt already seizing in his throat.

“I’m fine. It’s fine,” Thomas gasped out, but he looked wrecked and Richard could decipher yet if it was for the right reasons or not.

They just looked at one another for a moment, both seeming to try and calm their breathing. “Maybe we ought to go to bed,” Richard offered, not because he necessarily wanted to but because it seemed the necessary thing to offer. But Thomas turned his head away slightly at that, and Richard worried that he might feel used, so he leaned forward and caught his eye, and changed course, “I could stay.”

Thomas looked at him closely for a moment and then nodded.

“I’ll just be back then,” he said quietly and left to slip quickly into his room and get ready for the night

When he returned, Thomas was already changed and sitting back on the edge of the bed. He met Richard’s eye and then looked at the mattress and they both seemed to be having the same thought – that it was much too small, but Richard shrugged and tried to look amiable, “It’s no matter as long as you think you’ll be alright.”

They ended up with Thomas’ back to his front, with Thomas’ knees and arm hanging off one side of the bed and Richard’s ankles the other, but Richard didn’t fool himself into thinking that he’d have had a good night’s sleep on his own anyhow, so it didn’t much matter to him. He maneuvered slowly until he had one arm looped around Thomas’ waist, careful to avoid his hip but wanting to hold him close, and the other draped up around his head where he could just trace his fingers lightly through the dark hair that had flopped over his forehead.

From nowhere, into the darkness, Thomas whispered, “How can you be so happy all the time?”

Richard was taken fully by surprise, “Don’t ever recall saying I was.”

“The way you smile, you’ll ‘ve had me fooled.” and if that didn’t make him _ache_.

“Then maybe I’ve had you fooled.”

“I don’t know…” Thomas mumbled, “I don’t know that you have.”

Richard bit his lip, trying to find a way to explain what was largely unexplainable. “Didn’t figure myself out until the war,” he whispered.

Thomas stiffened against him, and he felt bad for bringing it up. He’d seen the glove on his hand and reckoned he knew what it meant, but there wasn’t another way to tell this story. “You’re joking,” Thomas laughed, but he didn’t sound amused.

“I’m not,” Richard replied, trying to keep his voice warm and even and to not feel small. “It’s not that I didn’t know it was a possibility mind, just never let myself consider it.”

“Until what? You fucked a man in the trenches?”

One half of Richard wanted to pull away, his hand stilled in the other man’s hair, but he made himself do the opposite. He tucked his arm tighter around Thomas stomach, “More or less, I suppose.”

“But you’re not a man to run around,” Thomas goaded.

“I’m not,” Richard said softly, needing him to understand, “You were there.”

It took Thomas a moment, but he nodded, “Was the only part of the whole thing that made any sense.”

“Afterwards… After I did it, everything just sort of clicked into place, you know? My whole life made sense, but I was horrified. Was a wreck for months.”

“Wasn’t everyone,” Thomas sighed.

“I’m just trying to say that I understand. Had I thought there was a chance back then, I would have done anything to try and change myself.”

“But you don’t feel that way now,” and it wasn’t a question.

“No, not really,” Richard started moving his fingertips slowly through Thomas’ hair again, “Took following another footman into Soho – I swear I don’t run around as this is all making it sound –“ Thomas chuckled, and Richard couldn’t help himself then, laughing warmly against Thomas’ back, “But I saw that it was just all a bunch of normal blokes trying to get through life and I just thought… if they could all manage… ” he trailed off, not wanting to sound patronizing, but he hoped Thomas might understand. “That was the start of it at least.”

“I didn’t used to feel this way,” Thomas said after a beat. “Not really – not until…” he shifted slightly, his ankles curling back against Richard’s shins, “Has anyone ever called you foul?”

“In more or less terms.”

“Course they have,” he bit out and then stiffened, “Sorry. I don’t mean-“

“I know.”

“I hadn’t heard it in a long time actually… Now I get a reminder every time I sit down for a bloody meal.”

Fellow staff then. _I hate this house_ , thought Richard, heat boiling inside of him. Not that it was any better than anywhere else, really; he just had proper reasons to hate this one.

He sat up, careful not to jostle the bed too much, and leaned over until Thomas looked up at him. “You’re not foul,” he said ardently, and pressed a hand to Thomas’ chest, “Nothing about this is foul.”

Thomas closed his eyes and nodded.

Richard just watched him for a moment as his eyes were closed, feeling his breathing begin to even out beneath him, and he looked exhausted, “Why don’t we try and sleep,” he suggested softly.

Thomas opened his eyes in acknowledgement and gave another small nod. Richard leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheekbone before settling back down beside him and nestling his head against his on the pillow.

o0o

When he woke in the morning his stomach is turned over and his eyes dry, but he’s warm wrapped still around Thomas, who’s just himself beginning to stir. _What a glorious thing to wake to._

He props himself up on one elbow to bend over the other man, watching as he blinks awake – watching as his eyes shift from shock to wonder to uncertainty in the span of seconds.

 _He’s worried you won’t remember_ , he thinks, _or that you’ll feel regret – that you had too much to drink._

“I remember,” he says softly, watching as Thomas understands. His face relaxes into something akin to hope.

They’re so close Richard could count his eyelashes if he had the time. _Someday I’ll have the time._ Thomas is blinking at him slowly, his eyes wide and yearning, _yearning_ , and Richard melts into him, bringing his lips to slide against Thomas’, feeling him shiver beneath him, feeling the softness of his skin, the sheer warmth of him.

 _I love you_ , he thinks – the thought spinning in and out of his mind so quickly that he gasps.

Thomas pulls him closer.

Richard’s arms begin to shake with the effort of keeping himself hovering above, not touching his hip. He pulls away, breathless, chest heaving, and beneath him Thomas is looking at him like he’s the most wondrous thing he’s ever seen. He hopes he looks the same – he feels it.

He’s _radiant_.

“Promise you’ll write to me,” he whispers, but he doesn’t give Thomas a moment to answer, “I’ll write to you.”

“Please,” Thomas breathes in return, eyes wanting.

“I will,” Richard vows, pressing him back into the mattress to kiss him again, “I will.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I hope both men come off just a little bit frustrating because they're imperfect humans and are meant to be. Also definitely don't drink if you have a potentially life-threatening infection.
> 
> I debated even writing this at all because I adore Thomas and Baxter, and this period within the series is of course a huge turning point for them, but I couldn't seem to get this out of my head, so I hope you'll enjoy.
> 
> Credit to the conversation by [Hobbit_Kate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbit_Kate/pseuds/Hobbit_Kate) on tumblr for knowledge on the shoe spanners.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://effervescentyellow.tumblr.com/).


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